


smoke in the fireplace

by frostycakes



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Family Bonding, Family Issues, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27030769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostycakes/pseuds/frostycakes
Summary: Klaus startles awake in a frigid back alley, disoriented and freezing his ass off. Shortly after, he starts to lose his admittedly shaky grasp on his own life. First, he can't sleep, and then he can't eat, and then his family starts giving him strange looks and asking him if he's okay. But he's fine, really. The apocalypse is more important and, despite Ben's insistence he talks to someone, he pushes through it, just as he's expected to. He just has a headache.Klaus died while chasing after Luther. It's a little more permanent this time around.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 21
Kudos: 176





	1. feeling my skin, it was cold to the touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pallor mortis: the first stage of death; an after-death paleness that occurs as a result of the collapse of capillary circulation.

When he wakes, the air outside is cool, but it doesn’t settle into his bones like it normally would. Klaus blinks his eyes open with some effort, his eyelids sliding closed at every opportunity, tacky eyeliner ensuring they stay together until he rubs at them roughly.

His head feels muddled as he pushes himself up, and his palms press into the sticky pavement of the alley he’s collapsed in. He feels the loose gravel clinging to his pants and reaches down to brush it off the torn pleather. The bite of frost is less oppressive than it had been hours before, even though his fingernails are a sickly purple-blue when he catches a glimpse of them. He frowns with more effort and pokes at the side of his head, then winces and pulls his hand away, expecting grisly evidence of some wound. But there’s nothing, just a throbbing deep in his skull and confusion rising unbidden.

“Klaus?”

Klaus jolts at the voice next to him but forces his tense muscles to relax. Of course. Ben. “‘Morning.”

The wind picks up, but he doesn’t shudder.

Ben says nothing as Klaus pulls himself roughly to his feet, taking stock of his body, trying to remember why he might be taking an impromptu nap in this particular part of town. He wracks his mind for memories of the last 24 hours and comes up with Luther, out of control, and Ben, trying his best to help, but beyond that, nothing except a greyscale world and soft words exchanged with a young girl. And his father, because of course, but that’s less important at the moment.

He wants to remember what the girl said, but the more he tries, the worse the throbbing in his head gets, until he’s fallen back against the brick wall behind him and leaned over about to empty his stomach on the discarded trash bag next to him. Ben steps forward quickly as Klaus harshly knots his hands in his own hair, and he hesitates only momentarily before leaning down and gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

It should go right through him, but it doesn’t. He feels the warm weight of Ben’s hand braced against him. He blinks wide eyes up at Ben, now slack-jawed and staring at the point of contact between the two of them, and Ben recoils and stares hard at his own hands as they begin to shake.

“Klaus?” he says again, sounding infinitely more alarmed than the quiet whisper from before.

“Oh,” Klaus breathes, before unknotting his hands from his hair and throwing himself bodily into his brother, arms shaking as he wraps his fingers into the fabric of Ben’s jacket, and Ben can only throw himself back at him after finally clicking his jaw shut.

Klaus doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but when they finally let go of each other, Ben touches his cheek, runs his hand up to the side of his head. Klaus winces again as his fingers brush over his aching temple, nerves alight with sharp pain.

“I wasn’t there with you.”

“What?” Klaus startles again.

“I wasn’t with you after you hit your head. I saw it happen, and then… nothing, really. Until we got here,” Ben says, now taking his turn to settle heavily against the wall next to Klaus, left arm pressed against him, and Klaus thinks it’s just for the sake of the contact.

Klaus is uncharacteristically quiet as he thinks. Ben might still have come with him. To purgatory, that is. He may just not remember. It’s unlikely, but it’s possible. He hopes. It’s probably more likely that he was just restricted from existence for the time that Klaus was knocked out and his powers were inactive, but he could hold out hope that Ben came with anyway.

Water drips onto the top of his head from a pipe far above him. He notices his breaths are slow and even, nothing like the harsh, pained wheezing that he’s usually dealing with at this point in detox. A little self-reflection and he realizes that despite the odds, he's not sweating, his nausea's calmed down, and his hands aren't shaking. All he can really think is that the near-death experience must have shocked the withdrawal symptoms straight out of his system if he feels so… okay right now.

And he does, that is, feel okay. Just okay, though, besides the confusion and the damn headache. He’s still struggling to remember what could’ve actually happened to him; he knows something went horribly wrong tonight. How did he hit his head? He rubs at his eyes again, hoping for some type of clarity, but his traitorous memories pretty closely resemble the ghosts that now fill the air around him, fluttering just out of reach. He could probably ask Ben for help, but judging from the soft, concerned look he's currently giving Klaus, tipping him off that he hardly remembers why he's standing here might just be a bad idea.

The rest of the undead around him, besides Ben, are keeping their distance. Despite himself, he looks away from them and down at the ground as he tries to steady himself.

“Not sure what to tell you, Benny boy,” he finally mutters, minutes later, huffing through his nose quietly. Ben turns his head, raising an eyebrow in silent question. Klaus furrows his in response. “What? It’s not like I was in the prodigal land of the living for any of that shit, either!”

Ben glares for a moment, then sighs heavily. “I didn’t see Luther leave.”

“Then I suppose we’ll have to cross that bridge when we get to it, brother mine.”

Klaus gingerly hoists himself up off the wall, and, when he doesn't feel any dizziness, spins around, noticing how he doesn’t feel like the world’s spinning with him. He offers a hand that Ben takes with no hesitation. Klaus pulls his brother up with some effort, since apparently Ben’s gone and built some serious muscle doing his weird ghostly business, and starts off down the alleyway, swaying slightly with every step he takes.

Ben walks in silence next to him, sending him concerned glances every time he stumbles over a crack in the road or walks by a group of people who watch Klaus a little too closely as he passes. But Klaus is locked into his own mind as he reviews the night, trying desperately to find answers to a few questions in particular.

He wants to know how he ended up hunched over in some alley outside a club he’s pretty sure he somehow lost his much larger brother in. He wants to know why he doesn’t feel like he was slammed into the ground hard enough to kill him even though he’s fairly certain that’s precisely what happened earlier that night. And, despite everything, he wants to know where his stubborn, reckless bastard of a brother disappeared to.

By the time he’s made his way to the front gate of the Academy, the sun has started to rise, and he knows it wasn’t that late when he chased Luther out the front door, why is the sun making such an annoyingly enthusiastic appearance now? 

He has questions about, frankly, everything. How much time he lost while he was unconscious, why Ben can’t seem to remember anything from then, either. Where Luther disappeared to for the night, and with who. Why he’s certain of his own sobriety, and now isn’t paying the price.

But he knows those probably won’t be answered for a while yet. He takes a wobbly breath and pushes the door open without a sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to leave (relatively kind) feedback! and thanks for popping in to read this!


	2. you've got blood on your hands and i know it's mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Algor mortis: the second stage of death; the change in body temperature post mortem, until the ambient temperature is matched.

“She told me I couldn’t stay there.”

Ben looks up from pretending to read his conjured book. Klaus sits cross-legged on the floor in his bedroom and rests his elbows on his knees, his head cradled in his palms as he thinks. He hasn’t slept since getting back that morning, hasn’t really felt the need to despite being exhausted.

Ben has been hovering around him quietly for the majority of the morning, minus the ten minutes or so he used to find Luther, curled up in his room with the pretty woman Klaus remembers he met at the club last night.

Klaus absentmindedly waves one hand in front of his own face, searching his fingers for any damage. A few hours ago his nails were bruised, the veins in his fingers purpled and bright against his sallow skin. Now they look completely normal, though his skin remains pale.

Ben’s brow is furrowed when he asks, “Who?”

Klaus gives him an exasperated look. “The little girl, you remember.” At Ben’s decidedly blank stare, Klaus pouts a little. There's a well of dread beginning to build under his skin, but he pushes forward, “Y’know, dark skin, long black hair, sunhat?”

Ben shrugs with one shoulder, but he looks... anxious. Alarmed.

“Oh, c’mon, the know-it-all preteen who harassed me!” He shouts the last two words toward the ceiling then, hands cupped around his mouth, “—into thinking I somehow _wasn’t_ her favorite creation when we all know I’m _obviously_ the best thing that’s happened to this sorry reality since- well.”

Klaus leans against the edge of the sofa’s seat behind him and tosses his head back onto the cushion. He thinks of 1968 and slow kisses behind closed doors, gentle touches even on the battlefield. Of course he knows he could never be as good as Dave was. The carefree smile that had plastered itself onto his face quickly drops, and he sighs.

“You know, I was sort of hoping you had come with me to my little slice of limbo.” Klaus plows on regardless of the fear still gradually creeping into his limbs. Despite the fact that he asked, the recognition on Ben’s face isn’t comforting. It’s quite the opposite. Because ultimately Klaus knows Ben couldn’t have come with him; that place was designed for him and him alone, despite what the girl implied. But the fact that Ben’s gaze is slowly growing more horrified doesn’t really help him out, here.

"You remembered something... important, then?"

“She told me I couldn’t stay there,” Klaus repeats, quieter this time. “I’m- I’m thrilled to be alive, I guess, chalk that up top of the list of close calls, but… it would’ve been nice to have someone besides _Dad_ of all people while I was there.”

At this, the panic in Ben's eyes edges over into something wild.

“Klaus- you- you saw Dad there?”

“Yeah?” He’s confused.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Klaus blinks, then his eyes harden a little. “I thought we had other priorities here,” he says, sweeping a hand in the vague direction of Luther’s room, where he hopes he’s still passed out.

“Sure, yes, but this… Do you know how bad that is, Klaus?” Ben is serious. Not that he isn't usually, of course, but that wild look is only getting more intense the longer they talk, and he’s almost worried about what comes next.

“Benorino, you know I _love_ guessing games in literally any other scenario, but-”

Ben cuts him off. “The only time I saw another person after I died and before I woke up with you was-” He stops abruptly, swallows, then continues, quieter this time. “...Was when I met a girl. She told me exactly what had happened. She didn't... look the same, but I know it was her." He swallows. "She didn’t smile at me, but she took my hand and told me about the place we were in. Monochrome, always humming with voices until you stop to listen, completely empty besides the two of us. She also had to be the one to break the news that I was coming back to you.”

Klaus is silent.

“You died, Klaus. I don’t- I don’t think there’s a way around that.”

A pause. “I know,” Klaus mutters.

Ben steps closer, turns and sits on the sofa next to Klaus’s head. He places his hand on top of Klaus’s hair, and Klaus marvels at the way he can feel Ben’s fingers tangled in his curls.

“I know I died. What does Dad have to do with it?” Klaus’s voice feels stronger, and he’s blinking up at Ben now, leaned back on the sofa. Ben takes a deep breath.

“She told me… she told me that truly speaking with the dead, namely those that have crossed all the way to the other side, is only possible once your spirit has left the living realm. You… had to pass all the way on to see him there. Right?” Ben’s nose is wrinkled as he speaks, unused to so many words in such short succession, but he’s fierce in his worry. If he could die twice over, he looks as though he’d throw himself between Klaus and a speeding train. Or, equivalently, a little girl some may deign to call God.

Klaus swallows hard and folds his hands over each other anxiously, picking at his nails. “But my powers have always defied that, too, I think. I thought.” He bites his lip, chews at it for a second. “It doesn’t make sense for me to have crossed over. I’m here, aren’t I?” he says, gesturing his hands broadly in front of him and smiling tiredly. “Flesh and blood.” He pats his chest and draws in a breath just to remind himself he can. He’s deflecting and he knows it, but it’s been a long night, and he’s tired.

Here’s the thing. He still needs to breathe. He may not be able to sleep right now, but he’s tired. He’s so tired. And at the moment, he’s hungry, too.

Ben opens his mouth to interject with what Klaus is sure is another disturbingly accurate point about his current physicality, but Klaus cuts him off with a more genuine grin and a tut. Klaus's shoulders loosen marginally at the prospect of escape, even with Ben staring daggers into him that say "this isn't over" with the finality of a coffin slamming shut. Dramatic as always.

"Ah! I think it’s time for breakfast, Benward.” Standing abruptly, he turns and grabs Ben’s hands, yanking him up off the sofa. He sweeps out of the bedroom after swiftly grabbing his green army vest and reaching into his closet with unsettling precision to snag a brass bell, leaving Ben to trail behind him exasperatedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't expect the outpouring of kindness and comments i received over the last couple of days, but wow & thank you so much!!!! i'll do my best to meet expectations and i hope you liked this chapter! i expect future chapters to be roughly this length, and i do hope to continue releasing them frequently. thanks again for stopping by!


	3. i broke down in horror at you standing there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rigor mortis: the third stage of death; stiffening of the limbs of the corpse caused by chemical changes in the muscles post mortem.

Klaus and Ben have their disastrous “meeting” with Luther and Five. Though Klaus briefed him on his idea of playing ghostly show and tell with his siblings RE: Reginald Hargreeves’s Grand Plan, Ben looks disturbed to hear more details about Klaus’s interactions with Reginald himself in purgatory. 

It happens during Klaus’s third round of pleading with his brother to believe him about Dad’s suicide of all things. Klaus is beginning to shake as Luther gets closer, looming his mass over the table and getting in his face. His hands are out in front of him in some false display of defense because he and Luther both know Luther can and will easily grab him by the throat unprovoked after yesterday.

“You lie all the time, Klaus, how do you possibly expect me to suddenly believe you now? You just told me yesterday that you couldn’t do it, over and over again, and now you’ve suddenly, what, turned everything around overnight? Very fucking funny.” 

Luther spits the last words and continues, and Klaus cringes hard as Luther raises a hand to point in his face while speaking louder, louder, louder still. He’s certain he hears the ghost in the corner by the door to the pantry start to wail just that much louder in response to him closing his eyes and smushing his palms over his ears where they’ll be more useful. He swears Luther falters for just a moment before picking up with his rant again, but he doesn’t get very far.

Klaus’s eyes are glued shut, brow furrowed as he tries to block Luther’s yelling out. He feels a little nauseous and panicky, struggling to draw even quick, gasping breaths. Moments later, his stomach drops as the ghost abruptly stops wailing. And then, the room goes quiet except for his hyperventilating. He throws his hands off his ears and forces his eyes open, more disoriented by the sudden lack of noise than anything before it. He sees Pogo standing in the kitchen doorway, mouth slightly open like he was about to join the conversation, now staring at him in concern. Luther is a few steps away, now, looking a smidge regretful, and Ben is hovering a foot or two behind him and to his left, hand extended to touch him but not quite making contact. Five is staring at him with a quirked lip like he’s a puzzle to be solved, as always, but there’s worry in the dip of his eyebrows.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he tastes blood, and it’s more jarring than he thought possible. He flinches like that’ll get rid of the taste, then spits as much as he can out, reaching a hand up to prod at his face. A nosebleed, it seems, except poking around the left side of his head reveals some sluggish bleeding, too. His fingernails are a deep purple.

His breaths aren’t coming any easier with the sudden silence, unfortunately, and as he finally slumps to the floor, his descent is unexpectedly slowed by Five blinking behind him and hooking him under the arms to lower him to the ground unharmed.

He tries to breathe as evenly as he can while Five pulls away and studies him intently, apparently unsure how to approach another person in distress without yelling, which is what got them here in the first place. Ben takes this opportunity to sit down and lean his back against him, breathing exaggeratedly and supporting Klaus as he slumps heavily. Pogo approaches and simply offers a hand for him to take. He takes it, grateful for the grounding. 

Pogo’s hand is incredibly warm in Klaus’s, and Klaus does his best to breathe in time with Ben despite the watchful gaze of his family, but hopefully, Five is the only one who notices that Klaus isn’t actually the one supporting himself on the ground. He probably won’t mention it until later, Klaus thinks.

Luther sits back as his family does the work of pulling Klaus back together and looks brooding and contemplative. Klaus thinks this is very stupid of him, but he can’t quite express that yet, so it’ll have to wait.

“You’re okay, Klaus. You know it’ll pass.” Ben. He's here.

Klaus is grateful for the platitudes, even if that’s all they are. He lets out a soft, “Thanks.”

Ben huffs a small laugh, acceptance, as Pogo says, “Of course, Master Klaus.” Klaus thinks if he squints hard enough he can just barely see the outline of Pogo’s fingers through his own hand, but then Pogo drops his hand and he’s forced to look away. Klaus is a little sad for the loss, but he feels just this side of stable enough to chance a glance at his family. He immediately chuckles quietly at the relieved look on Five’s face, most certainly thankful he didn’t have to attempt anything in the range of comfort, and Five looks a little offended before giving him a small, genuine smile. Luther is still looking silently on, and when Klaus tries to meet his eyes, he looks down and frowns softly, forehead creased in thought. Klaus frowns, too, but tries to move on.

He forgets about the blood on his lips until he licks them again and spits immediately. “Ew! Nope, no thank you, not today.” He uses the neckline of his crop top to wipe at his mouth until he’s reasonably confident it’s clean, then feels around his head wound. He can tell it’s stopped bleeding, but the other people in the room who are not part of the Klaus-Ben symbiosis look a little alarmed at the fact that his head is leaking red. Which, fair enough.

Ben opens his mouth, but Klaus waves him off. He notices Five glancing sharply in the direction he waved his hand, but when Klaus blinks, he’s staring intently at him again, looking for… something.

Pogo sighs heavily. Five blinks into the kitchen to grab a wet rag, then blinks back over to Klaus to hand it to him so he can start cleaning himself up. Questions are suspended until after the show, apparently, because Pogo launches into his speech with a “Master Klaus is correct. Regretfully…” and the conversation quickly turns back to the silent observer: Number One.

Klaus knows resentment when he sees it, and it bleeds out of Luther.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's here!! sorry for the longer wait, especially for a shorter chapter, it's been a long week! hope you're all well and thank you again for the lovely feedback! mwah


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